-- Tuesday, March 28, 2000 --

12:29 p.m. Having learned my lesson from yesterday, I am going to try to write a little earlier in the day. No matter what's going on, I can take it better, report it more clearly, and make some sense of it if I'm not falling all over my words in a sleepy stupor.

Sun on my face -- attitude in place. That's me.

No matter what: look at the bright side. Be aware of the dank and dingy side and check for vermin and mold, of course, but don't dwell. Don't even linger. Clean up the mess and tie off the bleeders; move on to the next petunia.

Yeah, our long-awaited book just came in the mail, and yes, there's an itty-bitty mistake with some switched pages. I could get really, really upset -- but I won't. I sat in the sun for awhile, actually, and pondered my fate.

Yes, the mistake will be pinned on me. I laid out the pages, and I checked the pages, and I signed off on the pages. But I swear the title page and the copyright page were in the correct position when I submitted them. Now, they are switched and the book looks ...

... you know. I'm seriously going to get yelled at in a few hours. And I was such a hero up until this point. Got it in on time, did the index for free, designed a nice looking book, managed really well with all sort of last-minute changes -- and now ...

... and now my name is, once again, Mud.

Notmyfaultnotmyfaultnotmyfault.

But it doesn't matter. Won't matter. Sigh. I actually did go outside, moved aside one of the plants on the bench, and I sat in the sun to ponder. Why does this make me feel bad? The rest of the book looks good. It's a smallish mistake (not!) in the general scheme of things ...

... but I had a lot of pride wrapped up in this particular book. People will be disappointed now ...

... but maybe it will one day become a famous collector's item when the book sells a million copies. Maybe we'll all laugh about it, later. The rest of the book: a work of art. Clean, informative. The first three pages -- sigh.

It really seems, sometimes, that just when you've stood for a really long time in line and just when you reach the window and it's your turn to fill your tray and you grab for the pie -- just when you think you've got your own precious slice of pie -- that's when the window slams shut.

Time to wrap it up and stop worrying. Zen lessons about worry are worth repeating here. The question you must always ask yourself is: bam! Right this moment: what's going on? The book isn't chewing my leg off. It's sitting quietly on a table. It has no ability to bother me, unless I think about it. The worry is all in my mind.

In just this second, (and this one) there is no real worry or pain. The room temperature is fine. All in my mind, the trouble. Smooth seconds flow by. (and this one). Everything is A-ok until tomorrow, when that phone starts to ring and maybe, just maybe ... I won't hear it.

Until then ... smooooooth sailing. I am reading the most incredible book: The Collector Collector by Tibor Fischer. Published by ... let me see ... gah! Dang. None of these pages are screwed up.

Mine are. Oh sweet misery. Come sit in the easy chair in my mind. Make yourself at home.